#adventure #romance #R18 or Adventure / Romance / Mythic Fantasy (R18)
The gods stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the beast before them.
The wolf was no longer a pup—its shoulders towered like mountains, its teeth glinted like spears, and its eyes burned with the fire of storm-lit skies.
Fenra
Son of dharmak,"the God of imagination and thoughts"
The doom they feared, born into flesh and fang.
Twice they had tried to bind him with chains of iron and forged steel, and twice he had broken them as if they were threads of grass. Now, in desperation, they brought forth apheliahh—the ribbon that shone like silk but was stronger than the roots of the earth.
Fenra narrowed his golden eyes. He knew trickery when he smelled it.
"I will not let you bind me again," the wolf growled, voice shaking the ground beneath their feet. "Unless one of you dares place a hand in my jaws as a pledge of good faith."
The gods faltered. All but one. Týr, the brave, stepped forward and laid his hand inside the beast's mouth. The others wrapped apheliahh around Fenrir's neck and legs. At first, the wolf laughed, pulling, straining—but the ribbon did not break. He howled, thrashing, clawing at the earth, but Gleipnir only tightened.
And when Fenra realized the betrayal, his fury was like fire and storm. His jaws snapped shut, and Týr's scream echoed across the heavens as his hand was torn away.
The gods recoiled, yet they stood their ground. Fenra roared at them, shaking his massive head against the chains, eyes filled with hatred and sorrow. His howls carried across the Nine Realms, a promise of vengeance.
The prophecy was sealed.
Though bound, Fenra would not remain so forever. When the end came—when Ragnarök rose like fire from the sea—the wolf would break his chains, and the world would tremble.
And somewhere, far beyond the halls of the gods, fate began to stir once more.
"Years passed, and with them, stories upon stories—tales spun about the mystery of the great wolf, Fenra Rahir. Some storytellers spoke the truth, others bent it with their imagination, while a few whispered only fragments, shadows of what they thought had happened. The wolf became a legend, his name carried in hushed tones and fiery songs alike.
Yet through all the retellings, one thing remained unshaken: fate. A destiny carved not in ink or voice, but in stone itself. The mouths of men could twist the tale, but the ending was already written.
Years became decades. Decades turned to centuries.
Prophecy upon prophecy was spoken of the world unknown—the tale of Fury.
When Libya was weakened, the prophecy remained clouded, a shadow without form… until the appointed moment. For thousands of years the beast had slept, bound in chains and shackles no mortal hand could break.
Then came a spirit of peace, born not of war but of healing—sent to mend the broken, to calm the conflicted. Guided by fate, this spirit entered the tomb where Finra lay imprisoned. With words unspoken and light unseen, it gave the wolf eternal peace.
But with peace comes consequence. With release, a price. And the spirit, though pure, knew it had set into motion a plan already written in the bones of the earth. A destiny it could not escape."
When the spirit set its eyes upon Finra, it spoke in a calm, melodious voice.
'O Finra… who has bound you in chains and shackles for a thousand years?'
From the shadows, Finra stirred. His blood-crimson eyes flared, glowing in the darkness. His voice rolled like thunder across the tomb:
'Presence… who art thou that dares speak my name? From thy words alone, the earth quakes and the ground crumbles.'
The spirit shuddered, chills racing through its form, yet it did not falter.
'I have come to deliver a message, and deliver it I must. You shall be freed from these shackles, but only under certain conditions.'
The conditions were laid before him—conditions carved for the Four-Finger. Unless he obeyed, the shackles would rise again and bind him for all eternity.
And so it was spoken. And so it was sealed.
When the pact was complete, the chains that had held him for thousands of years at last gave way. Finra was free. Yet freedom came at a cost. His strength, once boundless, was diminished; only a fragment of his true power remained.
The great wolf trembled, his body shuddering as the curse took shape. His crimson eyes dimmed, his fangs receded, and his towering form folded into flesh and bone. He fell into another form—a human form.
Though immortal still, Finra bore the weight of humiliation. For he, who once viewed mankind as peasants unworthy to stand in his shadow, was now bound to walk among them. Bound not by steel nor by magic, but by the very shackles of destiny."
After the release of Finra, the Divine Spirit vanished, its path and purpose unknown. None could tell where its presence would next be felt, nor what destiny it sought.
And so began the tale of Finra—the story that would shape both gods and men, and shake the world to its very core."
Hi everyone, your author here. I hope you'll be patient with me, as this is the first story I'm writing. It takes a lot of time to shape the descriptions and bring the imagination to life, so please bear with me and let's take this journey together❤️❤️❤️❤️🙂🙂